


Dean's Amulet and Other Drabbles

by catforqueen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-03-26 01:49:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 14,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3832537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catforqueen/pseuds/catforqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a collection of Supernatural-based drabbles, ficlets, and one-shots. It contains any and all pairings. Each chapter has different ratings, pairings, and stories, and these are not at all connected. Each chapter title will contain the pairing and rating of the following fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dean's Amulet (or All That He Could Be)

Dean's Amulet (All That He Could Be) 

_Pairings: None_

_Rating: General Audiences_

Castiel had never told Dean.

Never told him about what had happened to the amulet.

Dean assumed that after he threw it away, it had stayed in the trash. Probably wound up in a landfill somewhere.

That wasn't true.

After returning from his hunt for his father (his unsuccessful hunt), Cas had returned the amulet to Dean. Dean had lost his temper and thrown it away. Unsurprising, since Dean was known for his short fuse.

Cas might have left the amulet there, in the trash, to rot, had it not been for the look on Sam's face.

To Dean, the amulet now stood for the wasted hunt for God, the absent father. Castiel was fairly certain Dean had transferred his disappointments in his own father to God, and saw those reflected in the shiny metallic shape of the charm. Whatever it had meant previously was blocked by his hatred of the missing fathers in his life.

But to Sam, the amulet was his gift to Dean, the only parent in his life who'd actually mattered- aside from Bobby. And it had hurt to watch Dean throw it away. He knew Dean had probably forgotten- not that that made it any better.

But Castiel remembered. Not the incident in which the necklace was given. Later, in Bobby's hospital room, when Dean had been reluctant to hand over the amulet. He had known how much the amulet meant to Dean at the time. He was never without it. It was his most precious possession, aside from maybe his car.

So after returning the amulet to Dean and leaving the motel room, he had continued to watch the events unfolding. So, once Dean had thrown away the amulet and stormed out to the car, Cas had been the only one to see Sam's face.

After Sam had left the room, Castiel had returned and retrieved the amulet. That night, he had flown into Sam and Dean's motel room and slipped it into Sam's jacket pocket.

Sam had left it on the motel table the next morning with a note for Castiel.

_Cas,_

_Hang onto this. Maybe you'll decide to hunt for God again. It'll do you more good than us. Thanks for the thought._

_Sam_

So Castiel had kept the amulet in his trench coat pocket and Sam never mentioned it to Dean.

When they'd lost Cas in the leviathan invasion, Dean had retrieved Cas' trench coat and kept it. Sam had gone through the pockets and retrieved the amulet. When Sam's delusions of Lucifer had gotten really bad, the amulet had helped some. He kept it with him everywhere, stored in pockets or duffel bags or sometimes around his neck hidden under his many layers. He might have called it his good luck charm, had it not been for his bad luck with good luck charms.

After Cas got his grace back from his brief stint as a human, Sam had given him the amulet back.

And with everything that had happened with Dean, especially his new alliances in the realms of good versus evil, Castiel was glad.

Cas was going to hold onto the amulet, for as long as he lived- which considering his past might not be very long at all. He would carry it as a reminder of all that Dean had once been. A best friend, a brother, a parent, a survivor, a savior. And a reminder of all that he had the ability to be again.

Cas would not give up on Dean. He and Sam had stuck to Castiel, believed in him, saved him too many times, for him to give up on Dean now.

 _I'd rather have you. Cursed or not._ Cas heard Dean's voice echoing in his head.

_Dammit, Dean. We will fix this._


	2. Big Plans for That Fish

Big Plans for That Fish

_Pairings: None_

_Rating: G_

 

"Alright, come on, Cassie!" Gabriel says, holding out his hand to the tiny angel. The little fledgling looks up at him, wide-eyed.

"Where we going, Gabey?"

"We're going to Earth, Cas. Dad asked me to check on some things."

Gabriel bends down and picks up his youngest brother. He flies them to the Earth.

"Cas, I need you to cooperate, okay, buddy? I have to do some work. If you behave, I'll show you something cool, alright?"

"Okay, Gabey," Castiel replies peacefully, sitting next to Gabriel's leg. Gabriel has no doubts he’ll do his best to behave. Castiel is very patient for a fledgling, content to watch dust motes drifting and creatures that are the predecessors to bees for hours.

As Gabriel checks on the creatures of Earth, he can feel Cas getting antsy.

"Hang in there, kiddo. Nearly done."

"Gabey, I'm bored."

"I know, bud," Gabriel says, picking him up. "Me too. But Dad needs us to do this for him. Help me out, little man."

"Can I? Can I help?" Cas asks excitedly.

"Sure. Here, hold this, okay?"

"Okay!" Cas crows eagerly, proud to help his big brother.

Cas manages to stay interested for a few more minutes and Gabriel is almost finished. He tosses the little angel onto his shoulders amidst giggles.

"Ready to go, Cassie?"

"Ye-es!"

Gabriel flies them to a rocky beach.

They run up and down the beach for most of the day.

Suddenly, Gabriel calls Cas over to him.

"Come look."

Cas comes galloping over, nearly stepping on the creature Gabriel is trying to show him.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Gabriel says, lifting Cas up. "Don't step on that fish, Castiel. Big plans for that fish."

Cas nods solemnly, watching Gabe with wide eyes.

"Come on, bud, time to go home."

"Can we come back tomorrow?" Cas asks hopefully.

"Sure, Cassie."

"And the next day?!"

"Maybe, we'll see."

Gabriel flies them home.

"Can I help you again tomorrow, Gabey?"

"Okay, Cas."

"Can we see Fred again tomorrow?"

"Fred?"

"The big-plan fishy."

Gabriel tosses back his head and laughs.

"Alright, Cas. But, I promise, you'll see more exciting things than the fish that will one day grow into something special."

"He's something special now," Cas says quietly.

"Sure he is, Cassie."

"Will Fred change the world, Gabey?"

"Maybe he will. Who knows? Maybe he will; maybe it'll be us."

"Does Dad know?"

"I don't know what all Dad knows, Cassie. Nobody does."

"Dad does."

"Sometimes I don't think he does."

"Gabe?" Cas asks after a moment of quiet.

"Yeah, Cas?"

"Do you think Fred likes oranges?"

"Well, we'll just have to find out, won't we?"


	3. Do I Know You, Dean Winchester?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A short fic about Ben and a O/C hunter named Tara. Ben encounters a vampire, and then encounters his past. Rated K+. Rate and review. If you have any headcanons you want, send 'em in and I'll try to write them!

Do I Know You, Dean Winchester?

_Pairings: Future Ben/ OC_

_Rating: G_

Ben's eyes blink open. There's a girl kneeling over him.

"Hey, welcome back," she says. "How's the head?"

"Ow," Ben replies, her words reminding him.

"Yeah, I bet," she smirks. "I'm Tara. I just saved your life."

Ben sits up slowly.

"What happened?"

"What do you remember?"

"Not much," Ben admits.

"Alright, let's start simple. What's your name?"

"Ben; Ben Braeden."

"Alright then, Ben Braeden. Got any family?"

"My mom."

"And what's her name?"

"Lisa. Her name is Lisa. I don't have amnesia," he adds, irritated.

"Just checking. What do you remember from earlier?"

"I was... standing over there," he says, pointing across the room. "And there was this girl. And she had these teeth. The she picked me up and threw me. Across the room. But, that's impossible, right?"

"Not impossible."

"I guess I hit my head, because I swear, she walked over here and..."

"And what?"

"I think she bit me."

"Yeah, a vampire will do that," Tara replies.

"A what?"

"Vampire. Come on, we need to get out of here."

"A vampire. You're joking," Ben protests, letting her drag him up.

"Nope. Not a joke. I killed it. Alright, here's the short version. All the monsters- or at least, most- you've heard about are real. Vampires, real. Werewolves, real. Ghosts, demons, shapeshifters, real, real, and real. You with me?"

"Uh, yeah. Where are we going?"

"My ride's in the parking lot. How are you handling this?"

"Uh... good, I guess?"

"You're not freaking out," Tara observes.

"It's weird, but I feel like... I already knew this."

"How?" Tara asks, leading him out the door into the parking lot.

"I don't know. Something about my... dad."

"Here," Tara says, stopping by a sleek, black motorcycle.

"This is yours?"

"Bingo. Here, helmet up," she adds, tossing him a helmet.

"Seriously?"

"Hey, I just saved your life. Don't go throwing it away," she tells him, snapping the other helmet on.

"Where are we going?"

"I have a friend nearby. They'll help get you home."

"Thanks, Tara."

"No problem, Ben Braeden."

* * *

Tara pulls into a gas station to fill up and pulls out her phone.

"Who are you calling?"

"My friends. Telling them we're coming. Dean," she says into the phone by way of greeting.

Ben feels a jolt of familiarity. Dean. Somehow he knows a Dean, but he can't remember right off. It's like a name he remembers from a dream.

"Well, obviously I'm bringing him to you, where else would I take him?" Ben catches from Tara's discussion with the mysterious Dean. "How do I know? Do I look like a psychic to you?... Of course I got his name, I'm not a Neanderthal. His name's Ben Braeden."

Tara pulls the phone away from her ear as Dean bellows into it. Ben can't hear the words, but he can hear the raised voice on the other end.

"Dean. Dean... Dean! Chill out! What's going on?"

"Bring him here," Dean growls into the phone.

"Okay, sure, cause I work for you," Tara says snarkily as she hangs up. She turns to Ben. "So, they know we're coming."

"Who was that?"

"That's Dean. He's got an... abrasive personality. His brother Sam is easier to get along with."

Ben nods, but for some reason disagrees with Tara's analysis of Dean, except he doesn't know why.

"Come on, it's not far," Tara says, remounting the bike. Ben climbs on behind her.

* * *

Tara and Ben pull up in front of the bunker. She cuts the engine and they walk up to the door. It opens almost immediately.

"Hey, Sam," Tara greets the giant in the doorway. "Where's Dean?"

"Pacing nervously in the kitchen while pretending to make dinner."

"Not pretending!" Dean calls from inside. Ben feels the jolt of familiarity again.

"What did you do to him?" Sam asks.

"Told him I was bringing a friend," Tara shrugs, gesturing to Ben.

"Ben," Sam says in shock.

"Have we met?" Ben asks in confusion.

"I-uh. No. Of course not."

"Real convincing, Sam," Tara says, sarcastically, patting him on the shoulder as she walks into the bunker.

She goes into the kitchen and hops up onto the table.

"Hey, Dean. Smells good."

"Where is he?"

"In the entryway with Sam. Who is he, Dean?"

"My ex-girlfriend's son. I lived with them for about a year before the job caught up with me. After I distanced myself them, they got kidnapped by demons. They almost died and I asked a friend to wipe their memories. They were supposed to forget about me. Lead normal lives. How did you find him?"

"Vampire attacked Ben."

"Is he alright?"

"Lost a half-pint of blood, give or take. Couple of bruises, cuts, and a minor concussion. He'll be fine."

"What does he remember?"

"So far? Nothing. But he's a smart kid. Give him time, he'll put it together."

"Yeah, I know."

Sam and Ben walk into the kitchen. Tara smirks when she sees Dean and Ben are wearing the same Metallica shirt.

"Hi," Dean says after an awkward pause.

"I know you," Ben tells him. "I just... don't know how."

Dean untenses slightly.

"Okay, then, let's eat."

He spoons up servings for everyone and they sit at the table. Sam and Tara watch the two. Rapidly, the silence becomes awkward.

"So, Ben, tell me about your mom," Tara finally asks.

"Your mom," Dean gasps. "Does she know where you are?"

"I didn't call her?"

"Does she know you're okay?" Dean asks.

"Whoa, Dean, cool it on the 'dad mode'," Tara tells him.

"Does she?" Dean repeats to Ben, slightly more calmly.

"I haven't really had the chance..."

"Here," Dean says, handing over his phone. "Tell her you're safe."

Ben leaves the room, cellphone in hand.

"Hey, Papa Winchester," Tara turns to him. "If you don't wanna tip the kid off, you might want to chill with the over-zealous parent."

"A year of habits is hard to break," Dean shrugs.

"Dean," Ben says from the doorway. "You have my mother's number in your phone."

Dean's eyes widen.

"Who are you? Why do I feel like I know you?"

Tara glances between Dean and Ben. Dean looks adamant about not telling Ben and Ben looks like he will kill for the information.

"Piece it together, Ben. You're smart. What's the link?" Tara prods. "You know, Ben."

"Dean knows my family," Ben replies uncertainly.

"Obviously. What else?"

"He-uh... I've never met him, at least, I don't remember meeting him... But I... I know him."

"Keep going."

"Tara..." Dean says warningly. "There's a reason for what I did."

"What did you do?" Ben asks. "Who- who are yo-"

"Don't asks questions about this, Ben," Dean pleads.

"But I need to know. How do you know my mother? How do you know me? Sam recognized me when I walked in the door. We've met, I know it. Who are you?"

"Ben..."

"Tell me!" Ben shouts. Suddenly, he winces and clutches his head.

"Ben?" Dean asks worriedly. He gets up and moves over to him. "Ben? What's wrong? What is it?"

Ben can still see Dean, Sam, and Tara, but behind his eyes, he is seeing memories.

His eighth birthday. When he met Dean.

Dean helping him stand up to bullies.

Fighting the changeling and saving people.

Dean coming and living with him and his mom.

A year of breakfasts with the three of them.

Dean leaving to hunt.

Dean coming back changed.

Calling Dean because Lisa was dating.

Demons kidnapping Lisa and Ben. A demon possessing his mom. Dean rescuing them; teaching Ben how to shoot a gun on the spot. Shooting a demon.

In the hospital after. A man in a trenchcoat coming in.

Dean coming in, but Lisa and Ben don't recognize him.

Suddenly the rapid flow of memories halt. Ben is white-knuckling the table.

"Ben? Ben?" Dean is still asking.

"Dean?" Ben asks, recognizing him for the first time. Dean's shoulders drop.

"Ah, crap."

"Dean... Did you erase my memories?"

"I was trying to protect you."

"I know. I wish you hadn't, but I know."

"I'm sorry, Ben."

"It's okay, Dean. But I remember now."

"Ben, go home. Pretend you don't know about any of this. Because people in this life die."

"You want me to just pretend this never happened? I know things, Dean."

"This isn't safe, Ben. Please, go home and leave this in your rearview mirror."

Ben stares at Dean for a moment then nods.

"Alright, Dean."

Dean seems startled by the sudden acquiescence, but accepts it.

"Tara? Could you take Ben home?"

"Yeah, sure. Come on, Ben."

"Bye, Dean.”

"Goodbye, Ben."

Ben and Tara walk out to her bike.

"You're really going to go home and forget this ever happened?" Tara asks. Ben glances at her contemptuously.

"Hardly."

"You really are Winchester," Tara say, admiringly. "Stubborn, bold. Born to hunt."

"Will you help me?" Ben asks.

"Helmet up. Where to first, Ben Braeden?"

 


	4. New Addictions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Crowley/Sam one-shot about overcoming addictions. And also, you know, sex. Yeah, this is definitely PWP. Rated M, at least. Very explicit. Don't like, don't read. Sam's thoughts are in italics, Crowley's thoughts are in bold.

New Addictions

_Pairings: Sam/Crowley_

_Rating: Explicit_

Sam is sitting at a table in a diner, skimming through Men of Letters' files.

"Hello, Moose," Crowley says, appearing in front of him. Sam starts violently and knocks his cup of coffee. He watches as it starts to tip until Crowley snaps his fingers and it rights itself.

"Show-off," Sam grumbles, shuffling his papers.

"So, where is Squirrel?" Crowley asks conversationally.

"Not here," Sam snaps.

"Obviously," Crowley leans closer and looks at Sam conspiratorially. "Trouble in Paradise?"

"What do you want, Crowley?" Sam asks impatiently, finally glancing at Crowley.

"I'm not allowed to visit my favorite member of Team Free Will?" Crowley replies, feigning innocence.

"No," Sam responds shortly. "What do you want?"

"A little birdy whispered through the grapevine that you had reached a dead end in your case."

"Are you done mixing clichés?" Sam asks coldly.

"Do you want my help or not?"

"What's in it for you?"

"Nothing major. The pleasure of pissing off Squirrel. Ingratiating myself to you. Nothing that would go amiss."

"Why should I trust you?"

"Sam, would I screw you?" Crowley asks. "Aside from in the bedroom?" he adds.

"Yes. And that second one? Never gonna happen."

"'The lady doth protest too much, methinks'," Crowley quips. Sam just glares. "Sorry, it's the hair."

Sam grits his teeth quietly before returning to the papers in front of him.

Crowley places a hand at the top of the stack and pushes it towards the table, away from Sam's eyes. Sam glances up at him.

"The answer to this hunt isn't in those files," Crowley tells him. Sam raises his eyebrows. "I am nothing if not helpful."

"Fine," Sam groans. "What do you know?" he asks, sitting back.

"You're looking in the wrong files," Crowley sing-songs, trailing his fingers across the table. "It's not a werewolf. It's a skinwalker, that just happens to turn into a wolf. Doesn't need a full moon, doesn't just eat hearts."

"All this carnage has been caused by one skinwalker?" Sam asks skeptically.

"A particularly sadistic skinwalker," Crowley explains, "But, then who are we to judge?"

Sam rolls his eyes.

"Anything else?"

"Isn't that enough? I just saved you from hours of chasing false leads. However," he adds nonchalantly, "I did send some demons after him this morning. They will have handled it by now."

Sam exhales in frustration.

"Of course you did," Sam says, packing up the files and signaling the waitress for his check.

"Wait, where are you going?" Crowley asks, standing up and following Sam to the counter.

"Home. Since you took my case, I'm going home."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. You think I did this so you could go home?"

"Well, not anymore," Sam replies, walking to the car.

"Of course not."

"The why did you?" Sam asks, lengthening his strides so Crowley practically has to jog to keep up.

"Because- damn, slow down- because I had a proposition to make to you."

"Alright then. What is it?"

"You want me to propose right here in the parking lot?" Crowley teases.

"Crowley," Sam says with a warning tone.

"Fine then. I have a... case for you."

"Let me call Dean."

"Sorry, Moose. Just you. Squirrel isn't invited."

Sam looks at Crowley as that sends up warning flags.

"Why not?"

"Like I said, Moose, you're my favorite."

Sam considers for a moment.

"Get in. And talk quickly, before I decide to use this," he orders, flashing the demon knife.

Crowley waits until they pull out of the parking lot before he begins to speak.

"Turn left," he tells Sam at the traffic light.

"Where are we going?" Sam asks suspiciously.

"Motel. Edge of town. That's where I stored the information for the case."

"You understand everything you have said so far is suspicious, right?"

"Then why are you still driving?" Crowley asks with a smirk. "Right, here."

"Tell me something about the case, Crowley."

"Patience, Moose, all in good time."

Sam suddenly veers to the curb.

"No," he says, pulling out the demon knife and holding it to Crowley's throat. "Give me answers now, or I will use this," he growls in Crowley's face.

"Are you referring to the demon knife, or the object causing the very obvious tenting in your trousers?" Crowley sasses.

"Enough, Crowley. The case, now," Sam snaps, trying to ignore the faint blush on the back of his neck. Even if he is the _tiniest_ bit aroused, it's definitely not because of _Crowley_. A better bet would be the thrill of holding the knife to his throat, or that the last time he was this close to a demon with the knife was Ruby.

Ruby who fed him demon blood.

 _Crowley has demon blood too_ , a malicious voice whispers in the back of his mind.

As soon as the thought sweeps through his mind, he draws back as if he has been burned.

 _You know you want it_ , the voice taunts. _Just one little cut and-_

"Where is the motel?" Sam asks raggedly.

* * *

After Sam pulls away, Crowley shifts uncomfortably.

**Well, that wasn't supposed to happen.**

Not the flirting or Sam's arousal, those were intentional.

But Sam getting that startled look in his eyes and moving away? That wasn't supposed to happen. Sam wasn't supposed to be able to tear himself away.

**Well, we'll fix that, won't we?**

* * *

Sam is tense like an over-wound guitar string all the way down the road.

"Moose?" Crowley asks. "What's the matter?" he slides closer. His hand slips to Sam's thigh.

Sam slams on the brakes. It's good no one is behind them, or they'd have been rear-ended. Which is not the kind of rear-ending Crowley had in mind.

The demon knife is at Crowley's throat.

" _Move_ ," Sam snarls. Crowley slides carefully away. Sam turns on the radio. "I don't want to hear another word unless it's about the case."

He turns the radio up louder, which is great until Crowley starts singing to Olivia Newton John's "Physical".

"Go to Hell, Crowley," he grumbles.

Crowley gives him a significant look, which he misses and continues to sing loudly and off-key to drown out his own thoughts.

**You heard it. His heartbeat. Saw the blood color his cheeks. That blood you know so well. You want more.**

**No.**

**Don't lie to yourself, Crowley. That's what everyone else is for. You know why you called him here. Made up the case.**

"Enough," Crowley commands out loud.

Sam glances at him in shock.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just... nothing," Crowley replies, shaken. "Motel's on the left. Room 110."

Sam pulls into a parking spot. He and Crowley walk up to the door. Crowley opens it and leads the way in.

"Okay, tell me about this case," Sam says.

"There was no case."

"What?"

"It was a lure. To get you here."

"What for?"

"You know what for," Crowley replies.

"My blood," Sam answers. "You want another fix."

"What? No, hardly. King of Hell, I could get blood from anyone I wanted," Crowley says dismissively. "But then, I must admit," he adds, leaning close to Sam, who is pressed back against the door. "Your blood has certain... _call_ to it."

"I thought you had kicked the habit. Joined Blood-Addicts Anonymous?" Sam asks tensely.

"Don't you understand? An addiction never goes away. You just learn to cope with it. You, of all people, should know that."

Sam can feel the heat rising off of Crowley, can smell him, almost taste his blood already.

Suddenly, he can't resist. Crowley is pinned against the door and the knife is at his wrist before either has a chance to realize what happened.

"Moose. Moose, what are you doing?" Crowley asks nervously. "You're better than this, Moose. Stronger."

"Maybe I'm not," Sam replies distantly, staring at the pulsing vein. A little pressure from his knife and the red nectar will flow out.

"Moose. Stop. Moose, don't. _Sam_."

That startles Sam enough. He meets Crowley's eyes before dropping the knife and backing away.

"Crap," he mutters, dropping to the edge of the bed and putting his head in his hands. Crowley moves warily to sit next to him. "I'm sorry, Crowley," he whispers into his palms.

"S'alright," Crowley replies, watching.

"It's... your blood... I just couldn't..."

"Shh," Crowley whispers. He moves Sam's hands and places a feather-light kiss on the underside of his jawbone. Sam tenses slightly. Crowley slides a hand to his knee and his lips directly under Sam's ear. "Shh."

Sam relaxes slowly. It's been awhile since he's been with anyone, and the slight weight on his knee and the breath on his ear feel so right.

"That's it, Moose. It's easier to ignore when you're distracted," Crowley tells him, the hand shifting higher and the lips moving lower. Sam tilts his head to give Crowley better access. Crowley's kisses travel up and down his neck, turning into little nips. Sam suddenly can't take it any more and turns his head, meeting Crowley's lips with his own. Crowley exhales softly, and Sam sends his tongue forward to meet Crowley's.

Sam moans into Crowley's mouth as the short man tangles his fingers into Sam's long hair. Crowley shifts into Sam's lap, straddling him, one hand tangled in the long locks and another on Sam's chest for stability.

Crowley's fingers drift to the collar of Sam's outer shirt before Sam shrugs it off. Sam tugs at the edges of Crowley's suit jacket and helps him remove it.

Crowley loosens his tie with one and hand and pulls it off.

Sam pulls Crowley's lips to his again, working at the buttons on his dress shirt. He leans back, lifting his own shirt off, before returning to the buttons. Crowley slides his shirt off, then leans forward and kisses Sam's collarbone while Sam works on his own belt buckle and the Crowley's.

"Easy there, Moose. No rush," Crowley murmurs against his throat.

Sam turns his head and captures Crowley's lips again, his fingers still fidgeting with the buckle, then the snap on the slacks. Crowley chuckles into the kiss, but makes no more remarks.

Sam kicks off his shoes and socks, not separating himself from Crowley.

Crowley stands up between Sam's legs. He removes his own shoes before kneeling in front of Sam. He unfastens the button and lowers Sam's zipper with slow, deliberate movements. He grabs two belt loops in his fingers and drags the waistband down, Sam lifting his hips to help.

"Boxers," Crowley observes wryly. He raises himself up, kissing Sam again while palming Sam through the thin cotton boxers. Sam moans against his mouth, thrusting upwards into his hands. Crowley moves his other hand to Sam's hip, stilling his movements.

"Let me take care of you."

Crowley lowers himself back onto his heels, tugging at Sam's boxers.

Sam watches apprehensively as Crowley leans forward and flicks his tongue against the head of Sam's erection. Sam groans softly. Crowley smirks and wraps his lips around the tip, flicking his tongue against the slit. He begins to bob his head up and down, slowly at first, but gaining speed. After a minute he slows back down, before pulling off with an erotic wet _pop_. Sam whimpers at the loss of sensation.

Crowley stands and removes his slacks and boxers, his erection dripping pre-cum. Sam's grabs his hips and pulls him forward, bobbing his head from his seated position. Crowley grips Sam's shoulders, resisting the urge to thrust into Sam's throat.

After a minute, he pushes Sam's shoulders gently. Sam pulls back in confusion.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. But if you want to do anything else, we should stop soon."

"How are we... going to do this?" Sam asks.

"You mean, who's on top?" Crowley smirks. "What do you want, Moose? I'm flexible."

"I don't bottom," Sam replies, lifting his chin defiantly.

"Fine, less work for me," Crowley says, settling back onto the pillows. Sam moves closer.

"Here," Sam places his fingers to Crowley's lips.

"I have lube," Crowley informs him.

"Let's start with this."

"Alright, Moose," Crowley smirks. He takes the first three fingers into his mouth and sucks firmly. Sam bites his lip as he remembers those lips around his cock. He lubricates Sam's fingers quickly and well. Sam removes his fingers when they're thoroughly wet.

Sam leans forward and captures Crowley's lips in a kiss as he gently thrusts a finger into the tight heat. The smaller man writhes beneath him in pleasure.

Sam slides the finger in and out slowly and methodically until Crowley is practically whimpering.

"Stop teasing," Crowley snarls.

Sam smirks, but works another digit in beside the first, scissoring the fingers inside Crowley. The King groans beneath him.

Sam, eager to begin working to his own release, adjusts to three fingers more quickly than the first two. Finally, Crowley let's Sam know he's ready.

"That lube you mentioned?" Sam asks. Crowley snaps his fingers, uninterested in moving. The lube appears in Sam's hand, who quickly applies a liberal amount to his dick and Crowley's entrance, who hisses at the sudden cold. He tosses the bottle to the side and lines himself up, glancing at Crowley for consent. Crowley smirks.

" _Today_ , Moose."

Sam rolls his eyes, but slides into the tight heat. Crowley tilts his head back and releases a shuddering breath.

Sam begins slow, deliberate thrusts. His hand moves to Crowley's cock, stroking in time to the movement of his hips.

Their breathing increases, shallows, and becomes synchronized. Loud moans fill the room. Suddenly, Crowley tenses and cums with a shout.

"Ah, Sam!"

Crowley clenching around him and his name riding on Crowley's orgasm moan sends Sam over the edge. Sound is muffled like there's cotton in his ears and he gasps as he orgasms.

He pulls his softening cock out of Crowley gently and flops down beside him, his muscles like jello.

"Holy shit, Crowley," Sam exhales as he catches his breath.

"Find a new addiction?"

"Hell yeah," Sam pants. "Hey," he remembers suddenly. "You used my real name."

"I guess I did... _Sam_ ," Crowley purrs.

If it weren't biologically impossible, Sam would have gotten hard again immediately.

"You like to hear me say your name," Crowley observes. "I'll save that for a special occasion, like next time we're alone."

"Next time?"

"There's always a next time, Sam."

"Give me a few minutes to recharge, and next time can be tonight."

"Well, Sam, the evening's young. There could be several more next times."

"Don't tempt me," Sam replies.

"Why don't you make me, _Sam_?"


	5. Lucifer and Cellos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer and Cellos  
> A/N: Pairing between Lucifer and OC. Rated K+for language, NOT smut. Just a cute, kinda fluffy fic. Enjoy.

Lucifer and Cellos

_Pairings: Lucifer/ OC_

_Rating: General Audiences_

_****_

Anya blinks in surprise as her surroundings suddenly, drastically change.

She was in a bar, flirting obscenely with a young man (and his attractive female companion) and now she was in an over-large cage.

"Dammit," she snarls, fitting the pieces together. Lucifer's Cage.

"Anya?" an eager voice asks behind her.

 _Fuck_ , Anya thinks to herself, _Lucifer._

"Lucifer," she replies coolly, turning. "Why did you bring me here?"

"Bring you? I didn't do this. You know I can't work magic in the Cage," Lucifer protests. Anya knows he's good at lying- he is THE devil, after all- but she believes him, against her better judgment.

"Great. So, now I have to figure out who did."

"Anya, how are you?"

"Really? Sixty years later, and _that's_ what you ask? Not 'do you still hate my guts' or 'why haven't you shived my ass yet?'? Because those are the ones I'm asking."

Lucifer tenses slightly, only perceptible to someone who knows him really well, like Anya.

"I did apologize, Anya," Lucifer reminds her.

"You did," Anya conceeds grudgingly, but her tone hints that the apology wasn't quite enough.

"How has Hell been in my absence?" Lucifer asks, shifting towards more neutral territory.

"Fine. Crowley has reworked it. He runs it very efficiently."

"And... How does he treat you?"

"Fine," Anya says shortly. "Everything's going fine without you."

They sit in awkward silence for a moment. Suddenly, Lucifer snaps his fingers and music is piped in from nowhere.

"What are you doing, Lucifer?"

"'Piano Man'. Billy Joel. Your favorite song."

"Turn it off," Anya tells him.

"You loved this song," Lucifer protests. "You loved me once," he adds quietly, eyes fixed on the ground.

" _Once,_ " Anya clarifies. "That was a long time ago."

"Not so long for creatures like us," Lucifer reminds her. "What happened to us?"

"There were three of us in our relationship. You, me, and your mistress."

"I never had a mistress," Lucifer says, confused. "You could say a lot of things about me, but I was always faithful."

"Tell that to the woman whose arms you were in the night I left you," Anya snaps.

"She was seducing _me_. Women did that. I was the _King_."

"You didn't seem like you were fighting too hard."

"You try articulating when some bimbo is trying to shove her tongue down your throat," Lucifer says snarkily. "It's not like I asked her to do that."

"I'm sure that's exactly what you want me to believe."

"Well, since it's the truth, yes, I would."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Because I've never lied to _you_ , Anya."

Anya looks away from Lucifer, unable to meet those earnest eyes, and sits against the side of the Cage.

The song playing through the overhead speakers changes. "Ain't That Just Like a Woman" by Louis Jordan replaces "Piano Man". Anya rolls her eyes.

" _Your_ favorite song," she remarks.

"It made me sound _less_ bad," Lucifer shrugs.

"I never wanted to fight," Anya admits.

"I know, Anya."

"What happened to us?"

"We were the power couple of Hell, and everyone wanted to undermine us."

"Why did we let them?" Anya asks.

"Because it was easier than protecting what we had."

They sit in silence until the song changes again. An instrumental filled with the mournful sounds of several cellos. Anya recognizes the song; Lucifer composed it. Anya stands up and extends her hand to Lucifer.

"Dance with me?"

They slip into the familiar stance easily; Lucifer's hand clasping her right, his arm around her waist, her head on his chest.

"Hell has been... different without you. Too quiet. Too peaceful. Abaddon's staged uprising was the most exciting thing to happen since your Apocalypse," Anya admits.

"How have you _really_ been?" Lucifer asks again. "How does Crowley treat you?"

"I've been... lonely. Crowley lost interest in me when he realized we were fighting and I couldn't betray you."

"Was he cruel to you?"

"He doesn't have the balls to be cruel to anyone. Much less the Queen of Hell."

"My queen," Lucifer says, spinning Anya smoothly as the song builds. "I should have fought for us, Anya."

"We both should have."

"I _will_. Give me another chance, and I will fight for you."

"My knight in shining armor," Anya teases. "Did you ever name this song?"

Lucifer nods, cleans closer, and whispers in her ear.

"I named it 'Anya'."

_****  
_


	6. Caged Heat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Michael/ Lucifer fic from in the Cage. Rated M for smut. Angel-cest, I guess? I sort of cover that in the first couple of paragraph. For all intents and purposes, Adam is either not in the Cage, or unconscious for this whole ordeal.

Caged Heat

_Rating: M_

_Pairings: Micifer (Michael/Lucifer)_

Lucifer sits against the edge of the Cage, a hand threaded through the bars and one foot beating rhythmically.

"Would you stop that?" Michael snaps.

Lucifer immediately halts his foot guiltily, a reflex from years of wanting nothing more than to appease his older "brother".

Lucifer never really understood the angels' insistence on calling each other "brother" and "sister". None of them had ever shared a womb, unless you counted God's mind. And it really just made inter-angelic affairs complicated.

It wasn't that he didn't love the other angels, he did- or, at least, he had. He loved the angels, and his father as much as any angel; Michael most of all.

"Sorry," Lucifer mutters.

"For which part?" Michael snarls, throwing his head back and letting it rest against the bars behind him. Lucifer, remains silent, instinctively knowing it's best to let Michael work the frustration out of his system. "Are you apologizing for the foot tapping? Or yesterday, with the clapping? Perhaps the day before with the snapping? How about getting us trapped in the Cage? Or starting the Apocalypse?"

"That was as much your fault-" Lucifer interjects, ignoring his own advice, but Michael talks over him.

"Or displeasing Father? Chasing Father away with your disobedience? Falling from Heaven and abandoning your brothers and sisters? Abandoning me?"

Michael is trembling when he finishes, his face flushed. Lucifer watches him silently for a second as he watches Michael's tension release.

"Better?"

"Shut up," Michael says, but with less animosity than before.

"You know, there's a cure for all that tension of yours."

"Yes. Get out of the Cage and restore my place in Heaven."

"Not what I meant. My plan involved a more personal heaven."

"I don't understand."

Lucifer snaps his fingers and two women in skimpy clothing appear.

"What are you doing?" Michael asks.

"We can create anything we want in here. We just can't send things out or bring things in."

"What should I do with them?"

"Make your own and relieve your... sexual tension."

"I'm an angel," Michael says disdainfully. "I have no need for carnal pleasures."

"Lying's a sin, Michael," Lucifer smirks. "When we get cut off from Heaven, we feel the same urges as the human vermin. You've started to feel it too. So, I'm going to put up a temporary wall, you're going to create a woman (or more) to keep you interested, and you're going to show her a good time."

"Wait, you can build a wall?"

"Yep."

"And you're just now telling me?"

"It's only temporary and I'm an ass," Lucifer tells him. "Now, go have fun."

"Wait, Lucifer, I-" the end of Michael's sentence is cut off by the wall that appears between them.

Lucifer settles back against the wall and creates a copy of "The Year the Yankees Lost the Pennant". He begins subconsciously tapping his foot.

* * *

Lucifer must have dozed off at some point, because he blinks awake. His book is gone, and so is everything else he created.

More specifically, the wall between him and Michael (and by extension, Michael's created partner) had disappeared. And, evidently, they weren't finished yet, since what had woken him up was the sound of moans.

"Oh shit," Lucifer mutters trying to untangle himself from the Cage. At some point he had rolled around and wrapped his legs and arms through the bars. Finally, he's free and he sits up and starts to summon his grace when one of Michael's moans reaches him.

"Oh, Lucifer."

Lucifer freezes, certain he has misheard. There is no way- no reason- Michael would moan his name during sex. That's ridiculous.

And there is also no reason the sound of Michael calling his name should make his heart beat faster and his penis harden.

Except that it does.

Lucifer raises his head slightly, watching Michael, believing that it must have been a mistake, that he misheard.

Michael throws back his head.

"Luke," he gasps out.

Lucifer jerks in surprise. It's been a long time since Michael called him Luke- at least since the Fall.

Lucifer catches a glimpse of Michael's partner. He has to blink to make sure he sees it correctly.

Yep. Michael's chosen partner is Lucifer. Not looks like, is. And damn if Lucifer doesn't think that's hot.

"Michael?" Lucifer calls quietly. A gentle, unconscious moan escapes Michael's lips.

Before Lucifer can stop himself, he is behind Michael, lips pressed to the space under his ear. Michael immediately freezes, tensing in panic. Until Lucifer begins nipping at his ear and whispering softly.

Michael makes the fake Lucifer disappear- which is good, because it was starting to make the real Lucifer uncomfortable- and gently presses back against Lucifer.

"Why didn't you say something?" Lucifer asks.

"Why didn't _you_?"

"I thought you hated me."

"I could never hate you, Luke."

Lucifer gently ruts against Michael.

"What makes you think I would bottom for you?" Lucifer teases, referring to Michael's fictional Lucifer.

"Who said you were bottoming?" Michael replies, turning his head to move Lucifer's lips down his jaw. Lucifer captures Michael's lips in his own, snapping his fingers and making his clothes disappear.

Lucifer's hands slide up and down Michael's arms, to Michael's hips, over Michael's chest and stomach, anywhere he can reach. Anything Lucifer can do to touch, to feel, to _hold_ Michael against him.

Michael's head is tossed back against Lucifer's shoulder.

"Lucifer," Michael gasps. "I... I want..."

"What do you want, angel? Let me give you what you want."

"I want you... Want you inside me," Michael whimpers.

"Are you sure?"

"Please. Please, Lucifer," Michael pleads, pressing back against Lucifer's erection. Lucifer moans.

Lucifer begins kissing down Michael's back, crouching down. He extends his tongue, sliding it into the tense heat. Michael whimpers.

"Lucifer... That's un-unnecessary."

Lucifer stand back up, hands gliding over Michael's sides.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"I know you won't. Just- please, Lucifer."

Lucifer gently guides Michael to the side of the Cage. Michael steadies himself against the bars as Lucifer nudges his legs apart.

He presses one more kiss against Michael's neck as he slides smoothly into him. Michael throws his head back, a moan escaping him as he white knuckles the bars.

"You good?" Lucifer asks, halting his movement.

" _Yes_. M-more," Michael begs. Lucifer begins to gently thrust in and out of Michael.

Suddenly Lucifer brushes Michael's prostate and he screams as he wraps his hands tighter around the bars, struggling to remain standing.

Lucifer's lips are everywhere he can reach, kissing and biting and licking. Michael's lips are busy moaning Lucifer's name and groans and any expletives the angel knows.

Suddenly he tenses and cums with Lucifer's name tangled in a moan. The feeling of Michael tensing beneath him and around him throws Lucifer over the edge and he climaxes with a groan, consumed by the feel and smell, the sound and sight of Michael.

When Lucifer tumbles down from his high, he wraps an arm around Michael's waist, untangles his hands from the bars and gently lowers the two of them to the ground, where he curls around Michael protectively. Michael rolls over and buries his head in the crook of Lucifer's neck.

"I'm sorry I accused you of abandoning me," he says in a sleep-fuzzy voice.

"I'm sorry I ever left."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: "The Year The Yankees Lost the Pennant" is a book by Douglass Wallop that was adapted into a play called "Damn Yankees". It follows the story of an older gentlemen who wants nothing more than his favorite baseball team to beat the Yankees and to play baseball himself. He makes a deal with the devil to make him young again and make him a fantastic baseball player.


	7. Misha, Meet the Overlord

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: AU where Lucifer comes to our world. Misha is not married to his wife in this. Rated T for language and slight smut. Don't know why I'm suddenly writing Lucifer fics left and right, but here's another.

Misha, Meet the Overlord

_Pairings: Mishafer (Misha/Lucifer)_

_Rating: T (for language and some smut)_

****

"See you guys," Misha calls to a group of fan girls. The fans continue to scream and Misha hears a woman scream "I love you, Misha!" over the chaos. He smiles and waves, starting to walk away. After the long day of filming- in which they got nothing shot, between Jared and Jensen screwing around, having to constantly reset the sound stage every time they screwed up (which was most of the day), and herding extras (which was a bit like herding cats) and crew members (which was worse than herding cats) - all Misha really wanted to do was go home, shower, and sleep until call tomorrow. Which reminds him that call is at eight tomorrow morning. He glances at his watch and groans. It's midnight.

There's a flicker of movement in his peripheral vision and he turns to look. The trees are dark and foreboding, but Misha doesn't see anyone. He suppresses a shiver that slides down his spine and gets into the waiting car.

"Where to, Mr. Collins?"

"My apartment," Misha answers distractedly, staring out the window.

"Long day?"

"The longest," Misha replies, shaking his head to clear out cobwebs. "How're the kids?"

* * *

"See you in the morning, Mr. Collins," the driver calls after him. Misha waves as he hurries to the door of his apartment. He leans against the door with his eyes closed after he shuts it behind him,

"I have to stop watching 'Supernatural' episodes," he chastises himself.

"I suppose I shouldn't take that personally," a voice replies, obscenely close to Misha's ear.

"Jesus Christ!" Misha exclaims, leaping away from the intruder.

"Not exactly," he replies, leaning against the door with a smirk and a wink. Misha recognizes Mark Pellegrino.

"Mark? Holy crap, you scared me. How did you get into my apartment?"

"I'm not Mark," Mark smirks.

"What do you mean? And, seriously, how did you get into my apartment?"

"I can do a lot of things. Mark is my vessel. I honestly believe he thought I was joking when I mentioned who I was."

"Vessel? Mark, are you going through some sort of actor psychotic break? Should I get help?" Misha asks. He had heard of that happening to actors. They get stressed or overworked and start thinking their fictional lives are real. But Mark hadn't been on "Supernatural" in a while. Why would that show be the one that he snapped into?

"I told you, I'm not Mark."

"Fine then," Misha replies, deciding to humor him. No use in having a pissed-off actor on a psychotic break running amok in his apartment. "What should I call you?"

"I have many names," Mark replies coyly. Misha starts to roll his eyes. "But you can call me Lucifer."

Misha has to sigh. It was beyond him why Mark- or Lucifer, whatever- would pick Misha to come to during his breakdown. Lucifer the character would not have gone to Castiel. Mark was probably integrating his reasonable thoughts- such as "Misha is an understanding guy; he'll help"- into his hallucinations.

"Okay... Lucifer. I'm going to call someone, and we'll talk this out, okay?"

Misha pulls his phone out of his pocket when Mark snaps his fingers and it flies into his hand. Misha's eyes widen.

"How did you do that?"

"I told you. I'm Lucifer."

"Okay, cool trick. Now give it back so we can talk this out with someone."

"You don't believe me."

"Listen, all I want is to get you some help, okay?"

"You think I'm just your friend- Mark, right? - having hallucinations? Well, could Mark do this?" he asks. Misha flies back against the wall, but when he collides, it's gentle. Misha struggles against the wall, pinned in the air, eyes wide.

"What the hell?"

"Do you believe me now?"

Misha stares in alarm.

"Oh my God. This is impossible. This is the shit from fan fictions. It's not real."

"Oh, it's very real," Lucifer says, lowering Misha gently. Misha's knees buckle beneath him and he drops to the floor. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Well, you did," Misha snaps. _Oh, God. I'm mouthing off to Satan._ A hysterical giggle escapes him.

"You alright?" Lucifer asks, crouching beside him.

"Satan is in my living room. Not really."

"There's the attitude I've heard about," Lucifer remarks, pleased. He gently lifts Misha up to his feet and leads him to his couch.

"What are you doing here?"

Lucifer's silent, aside from snapping his fingers and handing Misha a cup of tea (in one of his own mugs, Misha observes), handing Misha a blanket, and generally trying to be comforting.

"What are you doing?" Misha asks, watching Lucifer fret.

"Um... Trying to calm you down?" Lucifer replies as if he is unsure.

"Do I look not calm?" Misha asks.

"Well, as you said, Satan is in your living room. Most people would be at least alarmed."

"I work with Jared and Jensen. I have a fast recovery rate."

"Fair enough."

"You never answered me. What are you doing here?"

Lucifer walks leisurely around the living room, studying Misha's decorations. It's more bare than he would normally like, but since he's never home, it hasn't bothered him much.

"Human's are interesting creatures. You build these... homes. Several thousand feet in the air. 'To be closer to God', your ancestors cried. Yet I so rarely see humans consistently look out their windows, at the Heavens. Except for you. Are you searching for God, Mr. Collins?"

"Honestly? I was looking at the stars," Misha responds sheepishly. "And it's Misha, not Mr. Collins."

"My apologies. Your friend in the car called you Mr. Collins."

"Well, he's an employee."

"But you knew so much about his life?"

"Well, he's an interesting guy."

"I believe you are a very kind person," Lucifer remarks, watching Misha closely.

"You were watching me. At the lot."

"I was afraid you had seen me."

"Why were you watching me? Why are you here?"

"To make sure you were the one."

"What one?"

"Every so often, I come here. To your... universe. I watch the humans, and I find one that interests me."

"And I interest you?"

"You are kind, helpful, accepting. Contrary to popular belief, I am not evil, and I do not enjoy the company of evil people."

"So you come to Earth, pick a person, and what? Have a cup of tea with them?"

"Not usually," Lucifer admits.

"Then what?"

"Usually the encounters are of a more... carnal nature..."

Misha's eyebrows rise alarmingly.

"You have sex with them."

"Yes, with their consent."

" _You_ have to get consent?" Misha asks.

"I don't _have_ to; I choose to. There is nothing sexier than two consenting adults," Lucifer shrugs.

"So, if I said 'no'..?"

"If you asked me to leave, I would leave. But you would be the first."

"The first person to reject sexual favors from Lucifer?" Misha asks surprised. "I'm interested. That's... not a 'yes'," he adds. "I just want to know what you could have possibly offered them."

"Lonely people. They just want comfort. I can relate. So can you, I believe?"

Misha glances away from Lucifer and his honest eyes.

"I made you uncomfortable," Lucifer observes.

"You're just very honest," Misha replies.

"Honesty is the best policy," Lucifer sing-songs. "You don't have to be lonely, Misha," he says more seriously.

"Who said I was lonely?"

"You come home to an empty house. You wake up, go to work. You're fascinated by the life of your _driver_ , because you believe it is so much more interesting than yours. Because it is full."

"Are you always this good at reading people?"

"Generally."

"Why did you pick me?"

"We understand each other. Lonely, focused on our work. Looking for someone... Interesting."

"And I interest you?"

"The nice one's always do."

Misha cocks his head to the side, studying Lucifer.

"You chose me because I'm _nice_?"

"I chose you because you're interesting," Lucifer corrects. "So tell me, Misha, do you want to see what I can offer to someone who interests me?"

Misha bites his lip indecisively for a moment, then suddenly looks Lucifer straight in the eye.

"Yes."

Lucifer leans in close, hand moving up Misha's knee, lips against the lobe of his ear.

"Guys like us don't have to be lonely. Not anymore."

The rest of the night is sort of a blur. First in the living room, then in the kitchen, then finally in the bedroom. A good blur, but still a bit blurry.

By the end of the night- which is actually the morning- Misha is exhausted. He glances at the clock beside his bed. Six o'clock. Call is in two hours.

"Try to sleep," Lucifer advises him. "You'll need it."

Misha doesn't even bother to argue, his eyelids already slipping shut.

* * *

An hour and forty five minutes later, Misha blinks awake, eyes half-closed, stiffness in his joints, and comfortably sore.

He rolls over in the arms wrapped around his stomach. The blonde man behind him blinks awake. His eyes adjust slowly, and a look of confusion covers his face.

"Misha? Where am I? What the hell is going on?"

 _Dammit_. Misha thinks to himself. It's just like Lucifer to abandon him naked in bed with a confused Mark Pellegrino and no good explanation.

 


	8. The Last Archangel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Gabriel returns and finds out Castiel's Grace is missing. No one screws with Gabriel's little brother. Set Season 10ish I guess. Little sad near the end.

The _Last_ Archangel

_Pairings: None_

_Rating: K+_

_Triggers/ Warnings: Some mild torture and threats of torture, major character death_

Castiel watches as his brother rages. The entire motel is shaking, and the humans are in a panic, although they will pass it off as a freak earthquake.

Gabriel had been back for a while now, and today he had decided to visit Cas.

The second Gabriel entered the room, he _knew_ something was wrong. Cas was pale, which was a clue itself. He was coughing, and since angels don't get sick that was a freakin' neon sign.

And then there was the trouble with the Grace. Not just that it was burning out, but it wasn't Cas' Grace to begin with. Gabriel had practically raised Cas; he knew his Grace when he saw it.

So Gabriel had forced Castiel to sit down and tell him everything. And when Cas had finished, Gabriel is furious, throwing furniture, swearing at everything.

"You should have come to me."

"You were dead," Cas reminds him.

"Well, I'm not now," Gabriel tells him.  “And I'm gonna get your Grace back."

"How?" Castiel asks hopelessly.

"You said Metatron had it, right? I bet he still does."

"Gabriel, he won't hand it over."

"Then I'll make him."

* * *

Gabriel appears in the prison cell after receiving his clearance.

Metatron glances up. Gabriel's glare is pure fire and rage.

"Gabriel, what a pleasant surprise."

"Where is it?"

"Where is what?" Metatron asks innocently.

"Castiel's Grace. What have you done with it?"

"Didn't you hear? I used it. For the spell to cast out the angels."

"I did. But a smart guy like you. You'd want to keep the Grace. For leverage, right?" Gabriel replies.

"Why would I need more leverage for Castiel? I had access to the Winchesters."

"You're too smart to place all your faith in Sam and Dean. You'd have kept the Grace, if you could."

"Even if I did, why would I tell you where to find it?"

"Because if you don't, I will make you regret it. You will wish God had never plucked you from obscurity."

"You won't kill me," Metatron replies calmly.

"Not immediately, I won't. See, the angels want you to stay in this prison. They hope that you'll reform- like Gadreel did. They are giving you the chance to improve. If you cooperate, I'll let you live. Let you improve. If you don't cooperate, I will make your life a living Hell. I _will_ torture you. And if the angels I sent to track it down find the Grace- or if do- without your help, I will torture you _until you die_ ," Gabriel snarls, directly in Metatron's face. The Scribe meets Gabriel's eyes, trying to mask his fear. He has never seen this side of the archangel, few people have. Generally, Gabriel is carefree and happy, but moments like this make it clear why he is The _Last_ Archangel.

"It's exactly where you would expect it to be, but the last place you'd look," Metatron replies cryptically.

Gabriel sighs. He steps back, removes his jacket, and rolls his sleeves up. He grabs his angel blade and snaps his fingers. Chains spring up from the stone bench, securing Metatron so he can't move his arms or legs. Metatron struggles against the bonds.

"Don't make me do this, brother," Gabriel tells him, Metatron clenches his jaw stubbornly. Gabriel rotates his shoulders and steps forward.

* * *

Izrafel watches the angels demolish Metatron's headquarters methodically, hunting for the missing Grace. Three angels approach.

"Nothing."

"My team cannot find it."

"I don't think it's here."

Izrafel nods, dismissing them. He pulls out a cell phone (angel radio is mostly blocked in the prison) and calls Gabriel.

"We can't find it," he tells him.

"Then he's hidden it somewhere else. Set up tracking spells."

"We have. They all lead to Heaven, but they can't pinpoint any close."

"Thank you, Izrafael," Gabriel tells him, hanging up. He turns back to Metatron, now considerably more bloody.

"You could just tell me where it is," Gabriel offers. "This will all be over."

Metatron glares at him blearily.

Gabriel moves over again; Metatron flinches away. A piece of fabric from a necklace flashes into view beneath Metatron's shirt. Gabriel grabs it and removes it forcefully.

"Got'cha," he says, smiling at the bottles Grace in his palm. Gabriel turns back to Metatron, snaps his fingers and heals him. Metatron blinks in surprise. "I'm done killing my family. Enjoy your chance at redemption," Gabriel adds, before disappearing.

* * *

Gabriel appears in Castiel's new motel room- having been forced to relocate after practically destroying the last one.

"Cas? Cassie, I got it!" Gabriel calls to the empty room. He uses his Grace to find Cas, lying on the floor of the bathroom. He bursts in. "Cas?" Cas is pale and unmoving. Gabriel rushes to him, lifting his head. "Castiel? Little brother?"

Cas doesn't move. There are no faint flutters of his heart, no shaky breaths. There is nothing.

"Cas. No, no, no. I got the Grace. Everything's supposed to be okay."

Gabriel cannot breathe, can't comprehend. Cas can't be dead. Not Castiel, full of energy and purpose. And he couldn't have died alone. He would have died for a cause, for family, for friends. For fucking Free Will. Not like this.

Gabriel’s hand clenches around the bottled Grace.

" _NO!_ " he screams in his true voice, shaking the building, throwing the Grace. The bottle shatters against the wall; the Grace flows out of it, sluggishly, as if it can sense its proper home is dead and cold. It rolls, fog-like, towards Cas' body, viscous and dull. It slithers into Cas' mouth, partially open from his final breaths. The Grace settles into its proper place in Castiel's body, as if it's not quite aware that it's too late to make a difference.

Gabriel sobs. He doesn't cry, not often. Tears are a waste. Make a sassy comment and move on, that's his motto. But Castiel is his little brother. He had helped raise him. Taught him everything he knew. He had taught him how to fly. How to work his Grace. And now he was just... Gone. And Gabriel hadn't even been here to say good-bye.

_ba...dum...ba...dum._

Gabriel almost doesn't hear it. The faint thumping. But it increases volume, and can't be ignored.

_Ba-dum, ba-dum._

He recognizes the sound after a moment.

Cas' heart.

"Cas?" Gabriel chokes out.

Castiel's eyes open with a gasp. They glow with Grace.

Before Cas is fully aware of his surroundings, Gabriel has him wrapped in a bear hug.

"Die on me again, and I will kill you."

"Gabriel, I-" Castiel begins in a tone that swears he's going to argue.

"Shut up and let me hug you."


	9. A Hunter and Her Demon

A Hunter and Her Demon

_Pairings: OC (Hunter)/ OC (Demon)_

_Ratings: G (general audiences)_

I cross to the center of the crossroads, leaving my motorcycle in the bushes behind me. I double-check that my knife is still tucked into the back of my pants. Not many people know I have a demon-killing knife, but, then, that’s hardly something I spread around. I step forward, bury the IDs, and summon the demon.

Recently, I had the brilliant idea to summon crossroads demons, and then kill them. It’s been working pretty well so far, but soon my luck will run out, so this is my last assassination.

The demon that appears before me is unexpected. Obviously, I knew a demon was going to show up. But the demon I get is battered and bloody, hardly the type of salesman the King would send out. I’m immediately wary, certain that this is some sort of trap.

“Oh, of course. I would get the hunter,” the demon sighs with an Irish accent. He doesn’t sound angry, just tired and unsurprised. “Alright, please, put me out of my misery,” he tells me, extending his arms to each side. My eyebrows furrow, and I study him in confusion. There’s no way it’s going to be that easy. “Well? Come on!”

“Who are you?”

“Oh, Hell. You’re not going to be a polite murderer, are you?”

“I’m not a murderer!” I snap immediately. “I don’t kill innocents.”

“Oh, and that makes you so _noble_ , doesn’t it? Well, you were going to kill me without a second thought, up until you saw me. What did I ever do to you?”

“You’re a demon. You’ve killed people.”

“How do you know? I may have never killed anyone,” the demon shrugs. “Demon’s just a name. A title.”

“You expect me to believe that crap? You can feed those lies to the civilians, but I know better.”

“Do you? Then go on, stab me with that demon killing knife of yours,” he tells me. I try to mask my surprise, but some of it must slip through, because he smirks. “You thought I didn’t know about that, didn’t you? Oh, that’s old news in Hell. We keep tabs on all the big weapons. The stuff that can actually hurt us.”

“Then you know who I am.”

“Of course I do, _Maggie_ ,” he says. “I know all about your sad, little story. Your family killed by a shape shifter, a shape shifter that looked like your dad. He would have gotten you too, but you weren’t home that night, were you, little Maggie? But you came home the next day… And what did you find?”

“Shut up,” I say quietly, the slightest waver in my voice.

“Your mother and brother, slaughtered. And there was Daddy, who had come home from work, knifed through the heart on the couch. And Mr. Shifter was long gone. And poor little Maggie… She was all alone.”

“I said shut up!” I scream; I move forward, knife to his throat, then pause.

“Go on,” he whispers to me, lifting his head and baring his throat further to me. “Come on. _Do it_ ,” he snarls.

“Why do you want me to kill you so bad?”

“Does it matter? You want to, so do it!”

“No,” I say, drawing back. “Not until you tell me why.”

The demon rolls his eyes, but remains silent.

“Fine,” I shrug, turning away. “I’ll just leave you in this demon trap. Let whoever finds you, do what they like.”

“Wait!” he calls out. “I want a quick death. And I figure you’ll give it to me. You won’t torture me for information, or for the fun of it.”

“Why do you want to die?” I ask, turning back.

“Because what else is there?” he replies hopelessly. I’ve never heard that much sorrow from a demon.

“What happened to you?”

“Oh, these?” he asks, gesturing to the bloody wounds all over his body. “I displeased the King. I came here to make a deal, and see if he would reinstate me to Hell. But then I found you. And plans changed. If you would kill me… I wouldn’t have to worry about Hell. Crowley can’t get me on the other side,” he tells me. “Don’t you see, Maggie? You won’t be a murderer. It’s a _mercy killing_.”

“You know I wouldn’t do that.”

“Maggie, five minutes ago you were going to kill me on principle. A few seconds ago, you were going to kill me because I pissed you off. Just _kill_ me,” he pleads.

I shake my head ruefully.

“You’re so ready to die,” I say in confusion.

“Please. Help me.”

“I will, if that’s what you want,” I tell him. He raises his eyes, surprised. “But not like this.”

I step forward, take his wrist, and lead him out of the devil’s trap. I take him over to my bike.

“Get on,” I order him. “Maybe I’ll let you die later. But right now, I’m going to help you.”

He climbs onto the back of my motorcycle, watching me carefully.

“Hang on,” I tell him, revving the engine and taking off.‌

* * *

I pull up in front of the motel, and lead him into my room, breaking my salt line by the door, then sit him on one of the beds in my room. I replace the line.

“Don’t kill me, now that we’re locked in together,” I tell him.

“Wouldn’t dream of it. You’re my last hope,” he says. “Well, you and that knife,” he adds.

“Optimist, aren’t we?” I ask. “Hold on a second.”

I walk into the bathroom, fill a dish with water, grab a washcloth and hide the knife under the sink with a circle of salt around it. When you have a suicidal friend, you’re supposed to hide the razor blades and pills. With a suicidal demon, you hide the demon knife.

I carry the washcloth and water back into the bedroom. The demon hasn’t moved.

“May I?” I ask, walking up to him. He looks at me in confusion. “May I clean your wounds?”

“They’ll heal on their own,” he mutters, waving his hand dismissively.

“Not with all the salt I imagine is packed into them. Or the holy water. May I?”

The demon glances at me, surprise and distrust in his eyes, then nods slowly. I sit next to him, dampen the cloth, and get started on his face and neck. He winces a few times, but I watch as the wounds I clean heal behind me.

“Better?” I ask. He nods. I move to his hands, then up his arms. After I reach his upper arms, I glance up to see him watching me curiously. “And the others?” I glance at his shirt. He smirks, but pulls it off, wincing as it drags his skin. I flinch in sympathy, before running the washcloth over his back and shoulders. Slowly, the tension in his muscles drains away. When I finish his back, he turns around, sitting on his knees, facing me. “Thank you,” I tell him, starting on his chest. He watches me as I gently clean out salt and holy water. I glance up at him. “Yes?”

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“I was told to help those in need. And you needed help,” I shrug.

“And that lesson extends to demons?”

“It extends to everyone.”

He is silent for a moment.

“Thank you.”

I glance up in surprise.

“You’re welcome,” I reply. I’m quiet for a moment. “What is your name?”

“Liam. My name is Liam,” he says quietly, watching me clean the impurities out of his injuries. “So, where does a girl like you get a bike like that?”

“Where does a demon like you get an accent like that?”

“Ireland. Obviously.”

“Obviously. It was gift. The hunter who was training me gave it to me after I killed my first shifter.”

“Nice gift.”

“I love that bike. I do all the work on it myself.”

“Ooo, a girl who knows her way around an engine. That’s hot, that is.”

“You know, you’re a little adorable when you’re impressed with me,” I tease.

“Maybe I should _act_ impressed then.”

“Alright,” I tell him, examining his skin for any more injuries. “I think that’s all of them.”

“What, not going to check the one’s under the belt?”

I glance up scornfully, but change my mind. I smirk, sitting up on my knees, and shift my hands to his belt. Liam’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly. He shifts his face up, watching me as my hands work his belt off. I raise my eyebrows.

“Still want me to check the others?”

“You think I’m really going to stop you now?”

I tug at the button. Liam lifts his hips and tugs the jeans off.

“I can do that part by myself, thanks,” he tells me winking. I roll my eyes with a smile, but my smile fades when I see his legs.

“Oh, Liam,” I gasp, studying the gashes.

“Most times when a woman says that to me, I’m not wearing pants.”

“I assume you mean British pants, and not American pants,” I reply.

“That’s right.”

“Well. Keep those on.”

“Only until you ask me to take them off,” he says cheekily. I gesture for him to sit down, grabbing my washcloth again. I kneel down beside him and clean first one leg, and then the other.

“This is the quietest you’ve been all evening,” I remark, looking up. Liam has his head tilted back, and a pained expression on his face. “Are you alright? Are you in pain?” I ask immediately, getting up.

“Darling, those soft hands, and that close to the goods; well, it’s a struggle for any man. And I’m not near as strong as most.”

I blush as I understand, ducking my head.

“Well, this is awkward,” I say, sucking air through my teeth.

“I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Aren’t you polite for a demon?”

“Aren’t you polite for a murderer?”

“I’m not a murderer.”

“You almost killed me,” he reminds me.

“But I didn’t.”

“Why didn’t you? Why did you stop?”

“Because you were hurt. Because you needed help.”

“So you’ve helped me. Now you’re going to kill me? Seems a waste.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do yet,” I tell him honestly. “Do you still want to die?”

He considers the question.

“No. No, I don’t want to die. But they’ll torture me in Hell if I go back. Hunters will kill me if I stay. I don’t really see another choice.”

I study the hopeless demon sitting on my bed in his underwear. Minutes ago, I had been cleaning wounds on every inch of his skin. Moments ago, I had been offering to kill him if he had asked. If he had said yes, I don’t think I could have done it. Even if he had begged. As shocking, as impossible, as it is, I can’t kill _this_ demon. _What kind of hunter am I? Can’t even kill a demon when he asks for it._

“You could stay with me.”

“What?” he asks, glancing up, eyebrows furrowed.

“I can’t kill you, and you don’t want to die. We could team up. Protect each other.”

“A demon and a hunter? Are you insane?”

“I saved your life today. You owe me a favor.”

“Maggie, as a hunter, I’m practically useless.”

“Then we’ll train you up,” I shrug. He stares at me in awe. Then he leaps up and kisses me. I’m frozen, shocked, before I melt into him.

“Thank you,” he breathes against me.

“Yeah. No problem,” I gasp out.

“You alright?”

“You just kissed me.”

“Oh. Oh yeah,” he says, shifting nervously. “Um… Whoops.”

“Do it again,” I whisper. He pulls his head back, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, before leaning in for another kiss.

“I’m not wearing trousers,” he murmurs against my lips.

“That is _not_ a problem.”


	10. Sammy... I'm Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sabriel fic. Return of Gabriel set season 10-ish. Pre-established Sabriel. Rate K+. For language.

Sammy... I'm Home

_Pairings: Sabriel (Sam/Gabriel)_

_Ratings: K+_

Gabriel wasn't sure if he should thank Metatron, or smite him.

After all, the little secretarial bastard _had_ brought him back, which was, you know, good.

But he had _used_ him. And Gabriel had had it up to _here_ with being used.

Metatron had made it seem like some big favor. "Look, Gabriel, I used the angel tablet to bring you back to life. Blah-blah-blah. Need to borrow your Grace to create a plausible fake-you, blah-blah-blah."

Metatron _had_ given the Grace back, which was more than some angels could say, but Gabriel could _feel_ that son of a bitch's slimy fingerprints all over it.

Gabriel shook his head. No point in getting angry. Metatron was locked up in Heaven and would receive punishment in due time. Gabriel had better things on his mind.

Gabriel snapped his fingers and appeared in a cheap motel room, almost unintelligible from the hundreds that had preceded it.

Gabriel smirked, watching the room's occupant pace worriedly in front of a wall covered in research. He hadn't noticed Gabriel yet.

"Hey, Sammy," Gabriel calls softly. Sam jumps about a foot.

"Gabriel?"

"Surprise, kiddo. I'm not dead!" Gabriel says cheerfully. Sam approaches him carefully, as if he might disappear. "Did you miss me?"

Sam lays his hand on Gabriel's cheek as if he expects it to pass right through him.

"Gabe?"

"It's me, Sammoose," Gabriel tells him gently, leaning into Sam's palm. Sam slides his hand to the back of Gabriel's neck. Suddenly, he jerks him forward and kisses him roughly.

"Where the Hell were you, you bastard?"

"I just got back," Gabriel protests between kisses.

"You were dead. Lucifer-he..."

"It's okay. It's alright, Sammy," Gabriel says soothingly. Sam buries his head in Gabriel's shoulder.

"You _died_ , Gabriel."

"I'm not dead now," Gabriel reminds him.

"I'm never going to get use to the whole dead/not dead thing," Sam mutters, muffled in Gabriel's shirt. "But I'm not complaining."

"You know, you never answered my question," Gabriel tells him gently, lifting his head. Sam looks at him in confusion. "Did you miss me?"

Sam rolls his eyes and kisses Gabriel again.

"Guess that's a 'yes'," Gabriel smirks.

" _Hells_ yeah," Sam mutters, smiling.


	11. Like You Mean It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sabriel fic. What happens to Gabriel and Sam's sex when Gabriel returns after a long absence? Fanfics, that's what. Rated T for language and slight smut.

Like You Mean It

_Pairings: Sabriel_

_Ratings: T (language and smut)_

Sam and Gabriel's relationship was not a new thing, by any means.

The two had had something going on for months before the Elysian Fields incident. It really wasn't surprising that Sam had been a little broken up.

It was also unsurprising that he had expected Gabriel to come back. Because, seriously? That's all the archangel did.

But, as time went by and there was no "surprise, kiddo, I'm alive!", Sam began to worry. Gabriel did a lot of crazy things, but he didn't keep Sam waiting.

And eventually, the short, candy-loving, Trickster/Archangel became less of a friend who was coming back, and more of a memory.

And then Gabriel had just shown up. Scared (and surprised) the Hell out of Sam. And the two had drifted right back into their same old pattern.

But Gabriel noticed some changes in Sam.

Sam had been affectionate before, but now he couldn't keep his hands off Gabriel. Not sexually (although there was some of that), but casual touches; hands held in diners, eyes glancing up while doing research to watch him carefully, hugs from behind. There was more snuggling, more hand holding, more gentle kisses, as if he's afraid Gabriel will disappear at any moment if he touches him too firmly. And since Gabriel missed him too and understands his fears, he doesn't comment or complain for a while.

Another big change is during sex.

Sam is rough. Sam likes it rough. Gabriel doesn't know why, and frankly he doesn't care. Gabriel doesn't mind being tossed around, so long as Sam was doing the tossing.

But Gabriel notices when he comes back, Sam is gentler, softer, less vocal. Gabriel could deal with less aggressive Sam, but quieter Sam was killing him. One of the highlights of their sex was listening to Sam moan and whimper and gasp. But now Sam was quiet, and damn it if it wasn't reflecting in Gabriel's libido.

They're having sex one night several months after Gabriel's return in a cheap, crappy motel room bed. Sam is gentle, hips moving slowly and smoothly, lips soft on Gabriel's. And Gabriel can't fucking stand it.

"Fuck me, Sammy," Gabriel commands suddenly, frustrated.

"What?"

"Fuck me like you mean it. Since I got back, you've been gentle and quiet, like you're afraid I'll disappear. Well, here I am, and here I'm staying. I'm not leaving you, now _fuck me like you mean it_ ," Gabriel growls. Sam blinks in surprise, then a small smile crosses his face. Gabriel smirks in reply.

"Just remember, _you_ asked for it," Sam tells him.

When they collapse afterwards, exhausted, Gabriel's smirk is gone.

" _That's_ what I was talking about."

"Holy shit, I missed that," Sam breathes.

"Tell me about it."

Sam glances at Gabriel, the archangel looking sexily debauched. Gabriel smiles slyly.

"Again?" Sam asks, an eyebrow raised.

"Oh, _fuck_ yes."

 


	12. Promises, Promises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sabriel smut fic. Plot, what plot?

Promises, Promises

_Pairings: Sabriel_

_Rating: Adult/Mature_

****

Gabriel and Sam are making out on the couch like teenagers. Gabriel's hands carded through Sam's hair, hands slipping under shirts, sliding over jeans. Gabriel kisses Sam's neck, knowing what it does to him.

Suddenly, Sam grabs Gabriel's hips and shifts him into his lap. Gabriel wiggles on his lap, making Sam moan. Gabriel smirks, moving his lips back to Sam's neck. Sam pushes Gabriel's shirt off of his shoulders. Gabriel shrugs out of it. He pulls at Sam's outer shirts, lips moving down the side of his neck, to his collarbone. Sam pulls his under shirt over his head, catching Gabriel's lips again as soon as he's free.

Gabriel slides his hands gently up Sam's chest, then reverses his course, dragging his nails. Sam moves his hands across Gabriel's back, pulling him closer. Gabriel unhooks Sam's belt and unfastens the button. He slides a hand over the waistband of Sam's boxers. Sam jerks when Gabriel suddenly brushes his erection.

Sam pushes Gabriel up. He pulls down Gabriel's pants and boxers and stands up as Gabriel steps out of them. He takes his own pants off. He pulls Gabriel to him, rubbing against him as they kiss.

"Bed?" Gabriel asks into the kiss. He pulls away and walks to the bed. Sam watches him, admiringly. "Well? Coming, Sammoose?" he teases, sitting on the edge.

Sam rolls his eyes and joins him. He pushes against Gabriel's shoulders, kissing a line down Gabriel's stomach. Gabriel lifts him by his shoulders and pulls Sam down on top of him, wrapping his arms around Sam's back. He rolls them over, so he's straddling Sam's legs.

Gabriel lays tender kisses down Sam's sternum, then, suddenly, with a sly smile closes his lips around Sam's nipple and gives a hard suck. Sam gasps in surprise, which dissolves into a low moan. Gabriel pulls back, flicking his tongue against it, before gently taking it into his teeth and lightly pulling. After a minute, he moves, continuing his ministrations on the other nipple. Sam whimpers, fingers wrapped in Gabriel's hair. Gabriel finally moves to Sam's mouth, biting and sucking his lower lip.

Gabriel pours some lube he made appear on his fingers and moves his mouth to Sam's erection. As he encases the head between his lips, he gently inserts a finger into Sam's tight hole. Sam groans as Gabriel starts moving his finger in time with his mouth. Gabriel takes all of Sam's impressive length in his mouth, until it bumps the back of his throat. Gabriel glances up, a dangerous glint in his eyes, and swallows around Sam's cock. Sam clenches the sheets in his fists, using all of his willpower to not thrust into Gabriel's throat and hurt him.

Gabriel slowly adds one finger, then another. Finally, Sam can't take anymore.

"Gabriel... Please..."

Gabriel removes his fingers and pulls off of Sam's dick. He spreads some lube on his own erection, hissing at the cool liquid.

"Roll over," Gabriel tells him. Sam sits up on his knees, facing away from Gabriel.

Gabriel lines himself up, kissing Sam's shoulders and upper back, before gently sliding in. Sam hisses, tensing and biting his lip. Gabriel immediately pauses.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes. I'm fine," Sam replies, pushing back against Gabriel.

"Easy, Sammich," Gabriel says with a chuckles, grabbing Sam's hips to stop him. He continues to move into Sam. Sam's cries out in ecstasy as Gabriel bottoms out and brushes his prostate. Gabriel groans.

"You ready?" Gabriel asks. Sam nods. Gabriel steadies himself with a hand on Sam's hips, thrusting in and out of the taller man. Sam pushes back against him, moving in time.

Gabriel reaches around, sliding his hand on Sam's length in time to his thrusts.

Gabriel feels Sam tensing as he gets closer; Sam can feel Gabriel's movements becoming erratic.

They climax at the same time, gasping and moaning. Sam collapses forward, Gabriel on top of him.

They gasp trying to recover their normal breathing.

Gabriel rolls off of Sam, settling next to him, placing tender, feather light kisses on his shoulder and bicep. Sam blinks at him and smiles satiated and tired.

"Well, Sammy," Gabriel smirks, "If you're going to looks this sexy and debauched after sex, we'll have to do this way more often."

"Promises, promises."


	13. Eye Contact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Destiel poem set at the beginning of Season 10.

Eye Contact

_Pairings: Sort of Destiel_

_Rating: General Audiences/ K_

****

> When sky blue eyes meet bottle green,

When hearts stop,

And breaths mingle between.

When words remains unsaid,

And all others are unseen,

Meet the eyes of Righteous man,

And the Man who would be King.

> When sky blue eyes meet bottle green,

When planets stop,

With a shuddering keen.

Monsters are given pause,

Just before they flee,

When the Angel of Thursday,

Locks eyes with Dean.

> When sky blue eyes meet bottle green,

And worlds are saved,

By this deadly team,

With souls that shine,

With a beautiful sheen.

This is what happens,

When blue eyes meet green.

> When sky blue eyes meet bottle green,

Through dangers unnumbered,

And trials unseen,

Through fire, brimstone,

Through ice and between,

Through Heaven and Hell,

When blue eyes meet green.

> When sky blue eyes meet bottle green,

And battles are fought,

And won for humanity.

Trials are fought and overcome,

And the future is seen.

Heroes are made,

When blue eyes meet green.

> When sky blue eyes meet bottle green,

And monsters destroy,

With a vicious scream,

Heroes will die,

While children dream,

The world isn't saved,

When blue eyes meet green.

> When sky blue eyes meet bottle green,

And tears are shed,

With a heartbroken keen.

And eyes close once more,

On sights they've seen.

This is how death goes,

When blue eyes meet green.

> When sky blue eyes meet bottle green,

And one world has ended,

To the sound of a heart's ping,

When hope is lost,

Along with a dream,

This is how a heart dies,

When blue eyes meet black.

 


	14. The Devil's Angel Food Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Destiel fluff! Thanks to Keely for the request and idea. I was so excited about this one. Set beginning of Season 10.

The Devil's Angel Food Cake

_Pairings: Destiel_

_Rating: K+ for slight language_

****

Castiel hears the familiar rumble of the Impala's engine outside a crappy motel. He stumbles to the door with a racking cough.

Dean is at the door when he opens it.

"Hey, Cas," Dean smirks.

"Hello, De-" Cas' greeting is interrupted by another series of coughs that shake his whole body.

"Cas?" Dean asks, catching Castiel's arm and supporting him.

"I-I'm f-fi-fine," Cas says between coughs. Dean leads him into the crappy motel room and forces him onto the couch. He waits until Cas stops coughing.

"Your Grace is almost gone," Dean observes.

"It's under control," Cas replies weakly.

"Liar. You're dying."

"I'm not dying, you ass," Cas says, rolling his eyes. "I'm just sick."

"Angels don't get sick."

"How's your soul, Dean?"

"Don't make this about me. I'm here to take care of you."

"I- I- don't" Cas' protest is cut off with a cough.

"Yep. You're getting some rest. Come on," Dean tells him, pulling him up off the couch. Cas stands, but his knees buckles. Dean catches him before he falls, rolls his eyes, picks him up bridal style and carries him to the bed. “Stubborn angel,” he mutters. Cas' body curls up as coughs shake him. "Easy. Shallow breaths, slowly"

As Castiel's coughing slows, Dean moves away from the bed.

"Get some sleep. I'll make... I dunno, tea or something."

"Angels don't sleep," Cas replies weakly.

"Well, you do," Dean replies, pushing gently at Cas' shoulders. Cas leans back against the pillows, watching Dean move around the kitchenette until his eyes slip shut.

* * *

When Cas' eyes open, he is laying down in the bed, blankets covering him. There is a glass of water on the table next to the bed. Cas grabs it and takes a sip.

"Better?" Dean asks. He's leaning against the counter, watching Cas.

"Were you watching me sleep?"

"Yeah, don't really see the appeal."

Castiel starts to get up.

"Hey, why don't you take it easy?" Dean suggests.

"No, I need to get up," Cas insists stubbornly. Dean rolls his eyes.

"Alright, then, do you want to help me?"

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to make a angel food cake. I feel like being ironic today."

"Why are you making a cake?" Cas asks, joining Dean.

"Because I felt like it."

"What can I do?"

"Grab the eggs from the fridge," Dean tells him, opening a bag of sugar and pouring it into a measuring cup.

"Did you go to the store?" Cas asks.

"Demon, Cas," Dean remind him, eyes flickering black. "Put eggs in the bowl."

Cas begins removing eggs from the carton.

"How many?"

"Two," Dean tells him, eyes on the sugar, which he pours into another bowl.

"Here you go, Dean," Cas says, handing him the bowl with two eggs in it. Two _whole_ eggs. Dean bursts out laughing.

"You have to _crack_ the eggs, Cas."

"Oh," Cas replies. He lifts the eggs out of the bowl and crushes one in his hand. He drops the runny ooze, shell and all, back into the bowl.

Dean sighs affectionately.

"Here, measure out some flour. _I'll_ deal with the eggs," Dean tells him, trading places. Cas watches Dean crack the eggs and dump the insides into a bowl with practiced ease. "See something you like?" Dean teases, glancing up and seeing Cas watching him. Castiel turns back to the measuring cup. He opens the bag labeled flour and upends it into the cup, dumping the entire bag into the cup and onto the counter.

"Whoa, Cas, what the Hell?" Dean exclaims, moving over and grabbing the bag. The bag is only half-empty, and Dean's sudden movement flings flour across the kitchen and the two of them. Dean and Cas stare at each other as the flour begins to settle.

"You told me to measure flour. You didn't tell me how much," Cas tells him.

"Oh, Jesus," Dean sighs. Suddenly, he glances at Cas, who is covered in a light dusting of flour and chuckles.

"What?" Cas asks irritably.

"You're _covered_ in flour. It looks like snow," Dean tells him, laughing. "You're a snow angel."

"I do not understand why this is so funny."

"I don't know. It's just funny, Cas," Dean says, dusting flour off of Cas' nose. "Boop."

Cas smiles at that, brushing flour from Dean's hair, purposely messing it up a little. Dean ducks away, laughing, grabbing a handful of flour off the counter and tossing it at Cas. It flutters harmlessly to the ground in front of him.

Quickly, the baking experiment dissolves into a food fight, eggs, sugar, and flour flying dangerously. Dean and Cas are filthy when they stop, laughing, ribs aching from laughing so hard.

They lean against the counter, catching their breath.

Dean glances at the kitchenette.

"Oops."

"What?"

"The kitchen is a mess," Dean remarks. "Oh, well," he shrugs, snapping his fingers and cleaning it.

"What will you do about your cake?" Cas asks.

"I wasn't going to eat it anyway."

Cas sighs.

"I have to shower."

Dean nods, laughing.

"I'll head out then."

"You'll come back, though? Won't you?" Cas asks.

"Sure, Cas. Of course I will."

"Good," Cas replies. He wipes some flour off of Dean's cheek and places a gentle kiss there. "See you then."


End file.
